


A Matter of Archives

by KazeKimizu



Category: Death Note
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 11:26:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4433726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazeKimizu/pseuds/KazeKimizu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of old oneshots revised from their original forms on FF. An archive of past works. Matt and Mello, and their lives and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Archives

**Author's Note:**

> He's getting better every day. No bomb can stop this bombshell, as weak as he is now. He can't take care of himself, yet he's still unstoppable. But for now, he's just getting better.

He opened his eyes cautiously, and immediately wished he hadn't. The room seemed too sharp, too real. His flesh burned, and somehow his hands were bound to his sides. He couldn't recall why he was in this place, but he knew he was going to stay here for a very long time. He tried to speak, but failed.

He coughed and threw up bits of chocolate and ash onto the stained mattress. His nurse wiped the dribble from his chin and poured powdered medicine down his throat, carefully tipping a half-full glass of water past his parched lips to rid his mouth of the taste. The medicine took effect instantly, sending the room in a dull haze as his stomach gurgled in protest.

His nurse picked up a small pocket knife and, with apologetic eyes, began to lance open the swollen blisters along the side of his face. He tried to scream at the god-awful pain, but only made a sickly sputter as more vomit rose in his throat. His nurse dutifully wiped him off, swapping hand towels to alternate wiping his lips and dabbing at the weeping wounds on his face and shoulder. He groaned, trying to fight against the gentle hands that worked the infections from his skin. His nurse held him still, though, and continued to doctor him.

A soothing mixture of creams and salves and balms soaked into his battered flesh under his nurse's tender hands. The bitter pain began to slowly dissipate; the burning, searing hell slowly lessened. His nurse smiled down at him, brushing his singed bangs away from his eyes.

He made a futile attempt to cringe when he saw the bandages in his nurse's hands. He held his breath as his nurse taped the gauze on his skin, hiding his wounds under layers of antiseptics and burn creams and miles of cloth bandages. His nurse tipped the water to his lips again, and he drank greedily. He felt his stomach rebel, and he tried so hard to keep the vomit down. Alas, chocolate-tinted ash and bile spewed from his mouth, all over the mattress. Again.

And he'd tried _so_ hard.

"Shh, Mel, it's all right. You're doing great. I'm right here."

He looked up at his nurse, finding a surreal sense of tranquility in that shock of red hair and those silly goggles. He wondered briefly where he'd seen this face before, but couldn't remember past the hazy pain. His vision blurred again, and he passed out in a dead faint.

"It's all right, Mel. I'm here. You're doing so much better. Just sleep."


End file.
